In May 1809 the monthly periodical The Poetical Magazine, issued by the publisher and art dealer Rudolph Ackermann, contained the first instalment of an illustrated story that would eventually be published as a book entitled The Tour of Doctor Syntax in Search of the Picturesque (1812). In the following years Dr Syntax went on two more book-length tours in search of Consolation (1820) and a Wife (1821). The illustrator was Thomas Rowlandson, and the text, in verse form, was provided by William Combe, a hack writer who spent the last fifteen years of his life in the King’s Bench debtors' prison.
Rowlandson was a contemporary and friend of Gillray's and, like him, made his living by producing satirical prints which poked fun at the great and good. Unlike Gillray (although he may have produced a few himself), he also also made a substantial living from what are euphemistically referred to as his 'erotic prints,' but which should probably be called something else. Be that as it may, in 1809 he met with Ackermann, who was then planning the launch of The Poetical Magazine. Rowlandson was already experimenting with drawings of an elderly clergyman and schoolmaster, and together they came up with the idea of a monthly episodic tale which Rowlandson would illustrate. The monthly serial was so popular that its release in book form went through several editions.
What makes DrSyntax so special is that it is arguably the first serial that was primarily led by the illustrations rather than the other way round. Rowlandson produced the print, which was then sent to Combe in prison, to compose the accompanying verse. The illustrations set the tone of the narrative, but Combe provided the fine detail, albeit in a fairly pedestrian, doggerel style. The roles were reversed for the second and third adventures, with Rowlandson illustrating Combe's narratives, so that these stories are rather less exciting than the first.
The first tour takes our hero from his home to Oxford and then on to York, the Lake District, Liverpool, and eventually London, before finally returning to the Lake District where he has acquired a new living as a vicar and private tutor with an income of £400 per annum, a comfortable sum. The title of the series, and the manner in which the story unfolds, are significant, for they emphasise the central theme: the contemporary obsession with the picturesque, and especially the writings of William Gilpin.
Gilpin was a teacher and amateur artist who was instrumental in fuelling the popularity of the 'picturesque.' This concept, rooted in the Romantic movement, sought to recognise and appreciate the beauty of nature in natural forms, or in buildings set in sympathetic landscapes. In 1748 Gilpin anonymously published A Dialogue upon the Gardens...at Stow in Buckinghamshire in which he stressed the importance of aesthetically appreciating a landscape and its man-made structures, without reference to intent or function. From 1782 onwards he travelled widely across Britain and subsequently published his reflections, which often included the word 'picturesque' in the titles. In his memoir of a journey along the River Wye he commented, without a hint of irony, that the aesthetic appeal of Tintern Abbey could be improved with "a mallet judiciously used." The particular inspiration for DrSyntax's travels is probably another of Gilpin’s reflective journals, Three Essays: On Picturesque Beauty; On Picturesque Travel; and On Sketching Landscape: to which is Added a Poem, On Landscape Painting (1792).
DrSyntax himself is something of a stereotype, but he may be based upon a real vicar: the Reverend Ralph Baron, whom Rowlandson had heard preaching a dull sermon at his church in Cornwall. Baron was extremely thin and wore a very old-fashioned bushy wig, and this experience may have suggested to Rowlandson the invention of an ageing cleric travelling the country in search of aesthetic beauty, but encountering the reality of country life instead.
The first tour begins with the image of the old vicar gazing out his study window, clearly day-dreaming. Combe’s verse explains that the Dr has no hope of any further Church advancements, and so he decides to set off on a tour in search of the picturesque. The next scene depicts his departure with the gentle humour that characterises the whole series. DrSyntax is putting on his gloves as he is about to mount his horse, held by a surly stableboy. His wife is behind him wagging her finger, but he takes no notice of her. His horse, named 'Grizzle' by Combe, is clearly elderly as well, and as the scene unfolds, passing women and children (and a dog) seem to find it all amusing. Unlike many contemporary satirical prints, the humour here is restrained, using common tropes --the elderly clergyman, the nagging wife, the rickety horse, even the stroppy servant-- and combining them to form the basis of the story which follows.
The next plate clearly establishes the adventure's themes. DrSyntax has arrived at a crossroads, where a worn-out signpost confuses him. He decides to allow Grizzle to rest and to capture the moment in his sketch-book, according to Combes's verse:
But, as my time shall not be lost, I’ll make a drawing of the post; And, tho’ your flimsy taste may flout it, There’s something of the picturesque about it.
Nearby a small herd of cattle are resting, and the gentle rolling hills in the background make this the perfect ‘picturesque’ scene. However, this idyllic episode is interrupted when highwaymen stop DrSyntax in a forest, tie him to a tree, take his money, and steal Grizzle.
In the following scenes the vicar is shown being rescued by two passing horse-riding young women; arguing with the landlady of the inn where he has been over-charged; and dining at his old Oxford college with friends. With each incident Rowlandson not only progresses the story, but also pokes fun at both his central character and the notion of the picturesque. A perfect example is the episode following the dinner at his college. As he leaves Oxford he stops to sketch a field that seems aesthetically suitable. However, he fails to notice that it is also inhabited by a large angry bull, which chases DrSyntax, so that he is forced to take refuge in the boughs of a tree. Grizzle disappears into the distance, the bull rages under the tree, and a frantic, barking dog confronts the furious bovine. The scene is a not-too-subtle refutation of the 'picturesque': Rowlandson places the doctor on the receiving end of nature's reality, which can be violent and uncontrollable, albeit in a comical way. As he yells angrily at the bull from his uncomfortable perch, he loses his sketch-book, wig, and hat.
The first tour comprises thirty plates altogether, which all contain the same gentle satire. The doctor is placed in various comical social situations, but he always retains his unshakeable faith in his quest for artistic inspiration. Every outdoor scene takes place in landscapes which epitomise the picturesque, as if to emphasise the legitimacy of the Dr's efforts to record his journey. Yet inevitably he fails: in a graveyard he has to listen to a long monologue on death from a gravedigger; and at a castle ruin he either falls into the surrounding lake or is deliberately tipped into the water by Grizzle.
One of the most effective scenes shows the vicar sketching outside a farmhouse. The ideal picturesque setting would include docile farm animals, placid and content in a seemingly perfect rural environment. Here, however, while the doctor has settled himself to sketch, the animals --cattle, geese, chickens, even a pig-- have all advanced and are howling directly at him. Behind him the local squire, his wife, and sister quietly laugh, as does an old woman in the background. Again the humour is gentle, but it is no less effective for that. The picturesque is ridiculed for its dismissal of the natural world's reality, while DrSyntax remains blissfully oblivious to the fun that he creates.
The vicar eventually returns home, but his reception is hardly harmonious: his wife is shown wielding a cane as he attempts to light his pipe and his dog barks angrily at his feet. However, all is well once he explains that his book is to be published, and the final plate shows the couple happily arriving at his new Lake District vicarage.
As already noted, this first book was extremely popular. The next two adventures, published in 1820 and 1821, were immediately successful and led to a proliferation of what we would now call branded merchandise. There were DrSyntax snuffboxes, plates and dishes, and even DrSyntax chamberpots. This incarnation of poor old Reverend Baron and his scruffy wig had become a national figure.
The second series begins with the tragic death of the Dr’s wife in childbirth, still not an uncommon event in early nineteenth century England. This bereavement provides the motivation for his next journey around the country. The satirical theme of this series of prints moves on from the picturesque to the consequence of that phenomenon, the boom in tourism. With his travelling companion Pat, his Irish stableman, the vicar again encounters mishaps and accidents, such as being chased by a swarm of bees.
Two scenes are of particular interest. The first depicts a skimmington ride: a procession of raucous people parading the effigy of a person or persons who had broken marital norms. Adulterers, wife-beaters, or overbearing, nagging wives could be targets of skimmington rides, which were accompanied by shouting and the banging of pots and pans, so-called ‘rough music.’ Hogarth portrayed a similar scene in his series Industry and Idleness, when the industrious apprentice marries above his social station (and so did Thomas Hardy, in The Mayor of Casterbridge). Rowlandson takes great delight in the procession's chaos, and it seems likely that it was drawn from memory.
The second incident of special note takes place inside a coffee-house in Bath. Coffee-houses are usually associated with civilised conversation and conviviality. However, Rowlandson shows DrSyntax attempting to pacify two old soldiers (one of whom has a wooden leg) who seem intent on fighting each other. A waiter has been pushed to the floor, the mistress of the house is shouting (from a safe distance), and everyone else, including a dog, is also making a racket.
The final print shows the vicar presiding at the wedding of an old friend's daughter, which conveniently leads to the third tour, in which he himself goes in search of a wife. Again he suffers a series of mishaps and accidents while travelling the country, but eventually finds a new love and enjoys two years of happy married life. However, after jumping into a lake to save his new wife from drowning, DrSyntax becomes ill; the final plate is the melancholy scene of his funeral, attended by a vast crowd of friends and well-wishers. Combe ends his poetical ramblings with this final couplet:
My verse has now no more to tell, The story’s done. SYNTAX FAREWELL!
So why were the stories of DrSyntax so popular? There are probably several interlocking reasons. Clearly, a serial which captures the interest of the reader encourages anticipation: we want to know what happens next. DrSyntax is robbed, falls into lakes repeatedly, and is made fun of, but --until the poignant end-- always survives for his next adventure. Almost like a modern soap opera, the lead character gets into all sorts of difficult situations but always succeeds in moving on to another exciting episode that seizes our attention. The quality of the illustrations is also a persuasive argument for the series' popularity. This was very much the age of the print, and Rowlandson was recognised as one of its leading exponents. However, perhaps the most significant factor of all may be the political environment in which DrSyntax debuted.
The second decade of the nineteenth century was marked by civil unrest and governmental paranoia. Although the war with France was over, the threat of revolution still lingered. The Peterloo Massacre took place in 1819, and Parliamentary reform was a growing issue. Inflation was high, and the large number of unemployed ex-soldiers and sailors added to the economic crisis. The increasing use of machinery in manufacturing reduced employment prospects even further, while farm workers flooded into the towns and emerging cities in search of work. In 1820 the old King died and George IV came to the throne. He was almost universally disliked, and the scandalous trial of Queen Caroline only added to his unpopularity. Additionally, that year also saw the infamous Cato Street Conspiracy, an attempted assassination of the Prime Minister and his entire Cabinet by a group of radicals. Given all these circumstances, the fact that DrSyntax was almost entirely apolitical must have been a huge factor in his appeal. Readers could enjoy his silly adventures unburdened by contemporary worries. He inhabited an England that might be hazardous on occasion but was generally benign and comforting, and in which the political turmoil was no longer visible. That, in itself, was reassuring.
Copies of the three tours of DrSyntax are now very difficult to find. While the plates have been reprinted, the full text that accompanies them was last republished in 1903. However, the books are notable for the precedent that they set. They represent the first examples of a graphic story that is both episodic and principally designed to make the reader wonder what comes next. The humour is gentle in nature: the often vicious satire of other contemporary prints is absent, which may perhaps signpost a cultural shift away from such cruelty. The books are the foundation of a genre that slowly emerged to command a huge following today. The graphic novel is now a mainstream art form, and there are several wonderful examples of the merging of words and pictures to produce work that both challenges and entertains --Art Spiegelman's Maus books spring to mind.
Rowlandson did not invent the graphic novel, but he did plant the seeds from which it developed. More importantly, he gave us a likeable character who, with his imperfections and accident-prone nature, accepted the vagaries of life with stoical fortitude while enabling his readers to forget, for a moment, the chaos of the real world. It is not a bad legacy.--Paul Flux
